Diane Chamberlain - Secrets She Left Behind

“What’s that?” he asked.

“She carried a box with a pot on it outside.”

“A pot in a box or on top of a box?” Mom asked.

“No. A picture of a pot. The box had a picture of a pot on it.”

Officer Cates wrote something down. Then he chewed the end of his pen.

“Maybe she was going to return a pot she bought,” Mom said to him. “That’s what she meant when she said she was going to the store.”

Officer Cates nodded. “Possibly,” he said. “So where did she usually shop?”

“She liked the Wal-Mart in Jacksonville, but it could’ve been just about anywhere. I can’t imagine she’d leave Andy that long, though.”

All of a sudden, I heard a brake-screech sound at the end of our street. I jumped up.

“Mom!” I said. “The bus!”

She looked at her watch. “Oh, no. We made you late.” She put her hand around my wrist. “I think we’re done here for now, aren’t we?” She looked at Officer Cates.

He closed his little pad. “For now,” he said.

“You go get some breakfast.” Mom let go of me. “Then I’ll drive you to school.”

I ran into the kitchen and stuck some cinnamon-swirl bread in the toaster. I couldn’t wait to tell Kimmie I was late to school and it wasn’t even my fault.

Sara

Stepping into Jamie’s World

1989

I HELD STEVE’S HAND AS WE SLIPPED INTO ONE OF THE PEWS at the Free Seekers Chapel. With Steve home and not interested in going to the chapel, months had passed since my last visit, and the congregation had swollen to thirty people. I spotted Jamie sitting in his usual pew, but Laurel wasn’t with him.

Steve let out one of his long, weary sighs that told me he was already bored, and my chest tightened up at the sound. I’d struggled to explain to him why I wanted to return to the chapel. It was the sense of community, I told him. Being part of something.

“What are you talking about?” he’d asked. “You’re surrounded by military wives. You have a built-in community.”

“This is a spiritual community.”

He stared at me with those steel-gray eyes. “One of the things we had in common is that we weren’t into religion,” he said.

“This is different,” I said. “You’ll see. Please come with me. Otherwise, I’ll go alone.” I felt nervous talking to him that way. Steve wasn’t a mean man, but sometimes I remembered how it felt when he pried my legs apart in the backseat of his car. It hurt, and the animal that took him over didn’t seem to care. I remembered that, and I was always a little afraid to stand up to him. But I needed what I’d found at the chapel. Was it the pull of the beautiful setting or the pull of Jamie Lockwood? I didn’t even want to think about that question.

Steve finally said he would go to the chapel with me, just one time. I felt intimidated by his presence, though, so I didn’t stand up to say where I’d experienced God that week. It would embarrass him. Or maybe I was afraid he’d think I’d been brainwashed. He kept up with the sighing. A few times he shifted in the pew as if longing to get up and stretch his legs. It wasn’t working out as I’d hoped. He wasn’t getting it at all.

After the service was over, Jamie greeted people as he usually did by the exit of the chapel.

“Is there any other way out of here?” Steve whispered as we moved toward the front door.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t care, either. I was already smiling at Jamie, stretching my hand out to shake his.

“It’s good to see you back, Sara,” he said.

“This is my husband, Steve,” I said. “Steve, this is Jamie Lockwood.”

Steve shook his hand. “Nice building,” he said, and I was grateful to him for making the effort to be sociable.

“You have a new baby by now, don’t you?” I asked. The last time I came to the chapel, many months earlier, Laurel had announced her pregnancy. Saying the word baby out loud made my breasts ache.

“I do.” Jamie glowed. “She’s a month old. Her name’s Maggie.”

“Congratulations!” I said. “How’s Laurel?”

He hesitated just long enough to let me know that all was not well with his wife, and I wished I hadn’t asked.

“She’s doing okay,” he said finally. “We’re both a little overwhelmed right now, but I guess that’s to be expected.”

“Let me know if I can help somehow,” I said. “I have plenty of free time.”

Steve nudged me, so I walked forward, making way for the people behind us to talk to Jamie. My offer to help was genuine. I longed to get out of the house, but Steve didn’t want me to work. “None of the guys’ wives work,” he’d said. Anyway, jobs were few, especially for a military wife who might have to move at a moment’s notice.

Jamie caught up to us in the small, sandy parking lot in front of the chapel.

“Were you serious, Sara?” He shaded his eyes from the sun. “About wanting to help?”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

“We can really use it,” he said. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

“No! Please. Let me just help out. Like I said, I have loads of free time.”

I gave him our number, and he wrote it on a small notepad he pulled from the pocket of his jeans.

I felt so happy as I got into the car. I could do something useful for a change. I could help Jamie, touching his life in a positive way, the way he’d touched mine by building his chapel.

Steve and I were nearly to the high-rise bridge before either of us spoke.

“You think that’s a wise thing for you to do?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked, although I knew.

“You know. Taking care of a baby.”

“I want to,” I said.

It was the closest we’d ever come to discussing Sam. I bit my lip, feeling anxious. Finally, Steve was giving me an invitation to talk about him.

“Do you ever think about him?” I asked.

“Who?” he replied.

“Sam.”

He was quiet for so long I thought he was going to ignore the question.

“Doesn’t do any good to think about him,” he said. Then he pointed to a speed-limit sign. Thirty-five miles per hour. “Is that new?” he asked. “I thought it was forty-five along this stretch.”

Jamie suggested I come to the real-estate office where he worked. I supposed he wanted to interview me before accepting my offer of help, but when I walked into his small office, I found him holding the baby. I sat down and he walked around his desk to hand the infant to me.

Every baby looked beautiful to me, even those with cone-shaped heads and scrunched-up faces and homely features. All of them, staggeringly beautiful. Yet Maggie Lockwood was extraordinary even at a month old. She had Jamie’s enormous brown eyes, and they were wide open, already taking in her world. She had a thick crop of dark curls and tiny features carved in pale, flawless porcelain.

“She’s a little colicky,” Jamie said. “But she’s a good baby.”

It was like holding feathers, she was so light. Like holding a miracle. Experiencing God. The thought slipped into my mind, and tears filled my eyes. Could I bear it? Helping to care for this child?

“Are you all right?” Jamie asked.

“She’s just so beautiful.” I felt one tear slip down my cheek, but managed to stop the rest. He’d think I was deranged. Maybe the sort of woman who would steal a baby. I looked up at him, clearing my throat as I grounded myself again in my surroundings. “Is this her first visit to your office?” I asked. “Your coworkers must have flipped over her.”

He tapped his fingers on his desk, not answering right away. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve brought her here all this week.” Leaning forward, he studied his new daughter where she rested quietly in my arms. “Laurel’s having a hard time.”